


Find Me in the Forest

by Crowbar Cooperative (ArchaicNightfall)



Category: Half-Life VR but the AI is Self-Aware - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, Feral Behavior, Gaslighting, Gordon Freeman needs a hug, Gordon is a Good Dad, Gordon/Tommy/Benrey happens later, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Jokes taken too far, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multi, Nightmares, No Smut, Past Amputation, Pranks and Practical Jokes, he loves his son so much, please heed the warnings, so their relationship tag has been removed for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24662863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchaicNightfall/pseuds/Crowbar%20Cooperative
Summary: A long-running prank leads to a disastrous consequence that results in Gordon’s already failing sanity to snap like a dry twig underfoot in the middle of a hot summer’s day.--This originally started off with a crack-fic concept of Gordon going absolutely feral after a long-running prank by Benrey, The Science Team, and Gordon's Ex-wife Olivia.Note: This will hurt. Gordon is not in a good mental state here.
Relationships: Bubby/Dr. Coomer (Half-Life), Tommy Coolatta/Gordon Freeman, past Gordon Freeman/Original Female Character
Comments: 55
Kudos: 302





	1. Hold Your Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks for the Research Squad HLVRAI server for being a bunch of enablers and hype men. I adore all of you folks dearly! To the people who know me from Undertale, you should check out Half-Life but the AI is Self-Aware series. It's great fun!
> 
> Original prompt: 
> 
> "I want Benry pulling some Fucked Up Shit and pulling a bit with Gordon’s ex-wife and just being like “listen let’s get pretend married to fuck your husband up” and she’s all in because like. You know, she thinks it’s fucking hilarious. Anyways i want gordon to find out benry’s alive a few months later when he finally bothers to check his mail and there’s a wedding invitation in there like. Can you IMAGINE. The guy he thought was DEAD for AWHILE NOW is suddenly fucking marrying his ex-wife? Huh? What? How long have they been seeing each other? How the fuck did he not know about this?"
> 
> "I want one instance of Benry fucking up a jape so badly Gordon just peace's out and goes off the grid"
> 
> "Imagine coming across Gordon who's just punched a bear to death. Feral Gordon Hours™️"
> 
> "Joke suddenly over when Gordon is found living alone in the woods solely off the natural resources. He built a whole ass cabin and integrated into a pack of wolves."
> 
> "imagine pissing off someone so much you literally break this man until he goes Feral."
> 
> "i like how this went from 'the world against Gordon' to 'Gordon punches the world back' "
> 
> \--
> 
> This is the unholy offspring of those prompts.

> **Find Me in the Forest**
> 
> **Hold your breath**

* * *

The first sign that everything’s going south is that Gordon’s mom suggests that his ex take Joshua in for a few months. 

Normally, Gordon would’ve kicked and screamed, dug his heels into the carpet because _fuck that-_ Joshua was his son, his little boy who was his rock through the whole mess that was Black Mesa. Sure, having the science team helped. But after losing his arm- god, losing it had been the worst part of it. 

Afterward, he’d been a jittery mess, and even with Tommy’s sun-bright smiles and support that normally made his heart flutter. Or Coomer re-aligning himself to Gordon’s side of the fence after the whole clown debacle had been so _relieving._ He still couldn’t quite turn his back on them, feeling ice settle into his stomach, neck prickling with the urge to make sure he was _safesafesafe._ Because they may have been nice, but Gordon will never ever forget that they stood by and did _nothing._

( _There were only two of them!_ _There were two soldiers!_ Something deep inside his mind and heart screams. _They could’ve fought- could’ve fought for you but they didn’t and it was dark and oh god you can still feel the knife biting into your wrist but you don’t have a wrist anymore. They left you, Gordon.)_

But then he catches himself one day in the mirror, cheeks slightly sunken in, hair unwashed and frazzled. His right arm still aches with phantom pains, the whitish-pink scar, and the grotesque stitching a constant reminder. Then he looks out around the corner into the rest of his apartment. The corkboard faintly visible with all the post-it notes haphazardly slapped on. The countless notecards meticulously pinned by colored thumb-tacks (there’s even a legend pinned, telling what each colored tack means). The hundreds of cut strings, carefully pinned into position like some demented spider web. 

Gordon’s breath comes out in sharp little gasps, his flesh hand futility gripping at the porcelain counter as he swings his head to look at himself in the mirror. He catches sight of himself again, and he suddenly feels bile creep up his throat. Taking in the dark circles under his eyes, how they make the green of his eyes toxic. 

Toxic like the sludge pooled at the bottoms of some of the labs. Like the containment pits. Like Black Mesa and all of its poison.

“I look insane,” Gordon says after a moment, staring blankly into his reflection. His shoulders tremble as a sharp giggle abruptly rips itself from his mouth. He nearly socks himself in the jaw with his right arm in an attempt to muffle himself. 

He'd forgotten that he has no right hand. Again.

The giggle bubbles in his chest, threatening to burst into an insane cackle. Instead, he breathes in. Not because he’s scared, but he thinks of Josh. How his son is sleeping contently down the hall to the right. Bathed in the green from those little plastic stars that Gordon painstakingly put up on the ceiling in the exact way to match Joshua’s favorite constellations.  
  


He doesn’t want his son to hear him break. So he can’t, not now.

The next morning he makes Joshua his favorite breakfast. Blueberry vanilla pancakes topped with whipped cream and banana slices. He had taken the time to carefully lower the temperature on the knobs, just to make sure that each pancake was perfectly golden. Or how the eggs were scrambled and seasoned just so. How there were three sets of syrup. One maple, one boysenberry, and one blackberry because Joshua and himself loved to mix and match.

Once he accompanies Joshua to the bus stop for school— With one arm down, and his left side being shit, Gordon doesn’t trust himself enough to drive Joshua to school —Gordon lovingly embraces his precious son. Even if Joshua whines a little in embarrassment at the public affection, but still bindingly happy from the morning cartoons they watched while they ate together and the fact that his father was _smiling_ again. 

If Gordon hesitates in that briefest moment, that quick second that he thinks over about his decision, smile briefly freezing on his face-

(He doesn’t notice it. Joshua doesn’t notice. Thank the stars.)

-Gordon ruffles his son’s hair, before letting go after Joshua signs him a heartfelt “I love you” and scrabbles off to join his friend on the school bus. 

Gordon’s eyes absolutely do not haze over. 

His shoulders do not tremble as he leans against the bus-stop. 

And he resolutely doesn’t curl in on himself as he watched the yellow bus fade off into the distance, taking his son away.

At 8:50 am, Gordon calls up his mother with a shaky voice. Ignores that annoyingly patronizing manner in how she ‘told him so’ when he tells her that Ol- _she_ can pick up their son. He can almost hear the slight sneer in her voice that Gordon should’ve decided this ages ago.

_For Joshua._ His mind whispers. _We’re doing this for Joshua. Ignore her. This all for him, all for your son._

Later, he sits at the desk, staring blankly at the corkboard with all of his painstakingly gathered evidence. From screenshots of various text messages because he _knows_ that so many of them have been deleted and this is his only proof that they’ve ever existed. To those various photos, he’d taken from the Facebook posts that hadn’t been hidden from him. Or several manilla folders containing extra copies of said proof.

Gordon finally lets that hysterical laughter escape hates how demented it sounds as it bounces off the walls, how it settles in his ears, and forces himself to curl up to avoid his own shame. Unkempt, impossibly curled hair hiding his face with stark shadows like some sort of wraith.

(Gordon had looked in that mirror and saw this shell of a man staring back. And knew that he was unfit to care for his son. Unfit. Unfit. Joshua couldn’t stay. Not with him. Not with him.)

* * *

The rest slowly falls apart in pieces. There are little things that Gordon recognizes (maybe he’s just finally noticed) now that Joshua’s gone and far away, safe from himself. Like how his relationships with all of his friends are different. People he knew from before the resonance cascade tiptoe around him, or avoid him entirely. He finds that he hates a lot of the stares aimed at the stump of where his wrist used to be. How their faces contort into horror at the sight of an obviously unprofessional cut.

Gordon admits that sometimes he’d flip out at the person who looked at him for too long. He’d snap so fast into his rage, snarling over toxic words that flowed out of his mouth like battery acid, and the next second back to solemn silence. He was just- so tired of all the stares and that weird pity. Gordon didn’t want pity, he just wanted to be _normal_.

The whole- _marriage_ thing between Olivia and Benrey had to be a fucking joke. And if it was a joke, then it was a fucking cruel one. Something that he never expected from the two of them.

( _Maybe we should have?_ The voice inside Gordon’s head asks, light and soft. Worried. Gordon hates that it sounds a little like Joshua even if his boy was mostly nonverbal. _People are mean to people like us, papa. That’s just how they are._ )

Olivia’s not the best person, but she and Gordon had been childhood friends. Even if their relationship was rocky because their personalities clashed. But she wasn’t ‘evil’ either. He still remembers the days back at MIT where they’d carefully plan out the yearly hack by climbing around the campus like a bunch of cocaine-addicted squirrels. Or those little moments during finals when one of them would eventually cry from stress, how they’d make meals for each other because they themselves would always forget to eat unless they made something for the other.

_(She wasn’t like this, was she? She wouldn’t do this, not to_ ~~_his_~~ _their son. Not to Joshua. Not his baby boy-)_

And, yeah, Benrey liked to make Gordon’s life miserable, especially with all those shitty jokes and weird non-human reactions. Once again, Gordon attracted people who liked to get under his sin. But Benrey had sort of mellowed out after they all got out of the weird alien dimension. (The satisfaction of pounding Benrey’s face into the floor in that one devastating blow hadn’t lasted). And Gordon’s saying sort of, because yeah Benrey was an annoying fucker. But he had some limits, especially when it came to Joshua. Like, holy shit the dude didn’t even cuss around Josh. It was almost incredible.

No, Gordon didn’t blush that one time when it was like, four in the morning because once again Gordon “I survived getting punted into another world” Freeman couldn’t sleep due to the nightmares. Also because it was an Important Day. And it was just the sleep deprivation because he sure as hell didn’t go bright red when his and Benrey’s hands brushed together in an attempt to make something for Joshua on his seventh birthday. He didn’t! stop laughing you blue-ball spewing _fuckmunch_ -

_(Surely Benrey wasn’t so fucked up that he’d make a deal with Olivia to take Gordon’s son away from him. Benrey knew how important Joshua was to him, that Josh was Gordon’s whole world.)_

* * *

_**“Please don’t take him,”** Gordon says, no, _ pleads _. Beaten black and blue, glasses snapped in half as he’s forced to his knees, illuminated in a halo of golden light. Center stage. Black sludge pours from his mouth, breathing ragged even as his arms are wrenched behind his back. How the knife bites into the flesh of both wrists. “Please don’t take my son from me.”_

_**“I’ll give you anything. You can take my arms, my legs, my heart.”** Gordon rasps, gurgles. Benrey smiles, liquid blue spilling down his chin, teeth razor sharp and jagged in his maw. **“Please- don’t- steal my baby.”** _

_Joshua looks nervous, shifting at the edge of Gordon’s blurry vision. Someone steps out from the shadows._

_**“Olive-?”** Gordon rasps, pleading. **“Olive, please don’t- please-”** _

_She takes Josh’s hand and leads his son away even though Gordon can faintly make out the fast signed ‘where are we going-’ and into the dark. Benrey laughs in that demented way of his. Like that time in the elevator-_

-Gordon wakes up and nearly chokes on his own distress-induced vomit. He rolls over, knees hitting the ground, the carpet biting at his knees. He makes a pathetic gurgling sound, eyes squinted shut from tears and eye gunk. Gordon spends the next hour— _(phone in hand as he debates calling up Tommy or Harold, but can’t bring himself to do so. He hasn’t felt worthy enough of their attention in days)_ —weeping and alone.

* * *

Out of the whole science team, Gordon ~~loves~~ likes Tommy the most. Like, seriously. Tommy Coolatta was the best person and Gordon would be willing to shout that fact from rooftops if he had the guts to actually do so.

Tommy is a brilliant man, and Gordon was not afraid to admit that. 

Tommy with his downright adorable analogies and metaphors. To his crack-shot ability to make sure that everything they encountered was dead in two bullets or less. The dude was awesome, even if the whole insistence that _everything_ at Black Mesa was OSHA approved was total bullshit. 

_(“No, Tommy, there’s no way that OSHA approved of these goddamn rooms with a pit that goes down, down, down-”_

_“Well, actually, Mr. Freeman, in page- um- page 106 of the Black Mesa Research Facility handbook, this room- is- is- actually up to code from all the machines to the conveyors. There’s even a list-”_

_“Look Gordon, Ropes! We can-”_

_“Dr. Coomer! Wait- no- God! Fffffffucking! Damn it!”)_

Gordon appreciated Tommy’s earnest nature and the almost constantly hopeful outlook he had, even in the worst situations black in Back Mesa. Out of everyone, Tommy had Gordon’s back the most.

In an attempt to protect Gordon’s still slowly bleeding stump of a wrist, the man had even sacrificed part of his lab coat, meticulously ripping it into useable strips and making sure it was clean enough to use as bandages by soaking it in the healing solution from one of the med stations they’d come across. 

_(Okay, yeah. That was probably the moment in which Gorden had fallen a little bit in love with Tommy because the next-)_

Gordon, a little delirious from blood loss had leaned almost drunkenly against the taller scientist from their cramped corner in one of those shittily designed rooms. Slurring out a whole list of compliments to Tommy as the other had carefully wrapped up the injury while Dr. Coomer was on the lookout for any enemies. Gordon admittedly had a little fun seeing Tommy go red up to his ears from the praise. Metaphorically speaking of course, because Tommy also wasn’t human, evident by the fact that the man blushed _gold_.

But that was weeks ago. 

And Tommy was acting weird now. Like, Gordon was used to Tommy-brand weird considering the whole caffeine addiction thing and the whole other fact about Mr. Coolatta. But this was a stranger sort of weird that Gordon wasn’t used to. 

Mostly because, well- Tommy looked _guilty._

Has been looking awkward and shifty ever since the whole announcement that Benrey and Olivia were getting married. And that worried Gordon because while Tommy may omit some things, especially when it came to his father’s weirdness. It rarely felt like an intentional lie. Gordon was pretty sure that even _Sunkist_ was in on this whole thing.

* * *

Gordon loved Sunkist because she _really_ was the best dog in the whole world. Joshua was allergic to most animals, but because Sunkist was perfect, she was also hypoallergenic. She could also change size too, and Gordon will _never_ forget the sound of Joshua’s pure laughter ringing through the air as Joshua rode on her back like a cowboy and a majestic horse. 

Because Joshua _loved_ cowboys but was scared of horses in real life. So his son got to live that little dream of riding at least one animal while wearing a cowboy hat that Gordon had carefully made because Josh didn’t like the texture of the store-bought ones. And the fact that Tommy was there with his bright smile and vivid gold eyes and his own bright laugh made it all the better.

_(For a moment, Gordon could see himself and Tommy, Joshua. All of them living together like one of those dumb movie families with the white picket fence, and a golden retriever- (only that golden retriever was Sunkist because who else could that dog be but the most perfect pooch?). One of those weird little dreams of Family that Gordon craved. Sometimes Benrey would be there in those daydreams too because Gordon hated to admit it, but he loved having that snark and dumb humor in his life.)_

* * *

  
  


But now- because of that stupid fucking wedding announcement that Gordon could _definitely_ tell was a joke but no one _believed him-_ things were _different_. Gordon wasn’t a big fan of change. Not anymore, not after Black Mesa. Not after the loss of his right hand.

He was pretty sure that Sunkist and Tommy were in on this whole thing. Because whenever Gordon brought out that manilla folder filled with proof and concrete evidence- some of which the Coolattas sometimes added to -and Gordon was scrambling around like a mad-man taking screenshots and printing them out just to make sure they don’t get lost or deleted because _goddamnit_ could Benrey and Tommy do weird shit when they were over.

(Gordon wasn’t being obsessive, surely. He just needed that filing cabinet with the copies locked up because as much as he loves liked the Science Team, they were nosy fucks and Gordon needed his privacy, thank you very much.)

Sunkist had tried to snag the folder away, and Gordon made a fool of himself. Frantically scrambling onto the table at the restaurant, holding the folder high above his head with one functioning arm as the larger-than-normal goldie retriever snapped her jaws at it. Said mad scramble caused most of the drinks to fall off the table-top, spilling everywhere. Plates with half-eaten food clattering off the table as Gordon’s left foot accidentally slipped on the now wet, surface. 

Gordon broke two things in half. The table, and his right arm.

_(Dad, I love Tommy as much as you do, because he’s nice and patient with us but..._ That little voice who sounded so much like his son said in the back of his skull. _I think he’s against us too.)_

* * *

  
  


_Tommy won’t forget that horrific scream that had torn itself from Gordon’s mouth when he landed on his right arm in a futile attempt to brace himself._

_How the prosthetic crunched beneath his body. How the folder had slipped, images and notes and carefully written cards fluttering down, from Gordon’s now spasming hand as he curled up on the floor, messy with food. Face flushed a dark red with shame, green eyes wide and glassy with tears as he stared up at the ceiling, glasses askew._

_Tommy had cradled Gordon so close, shaking and trembling, unable to tear his eyes away from Gordon’s eerily blank face as the younger cried silently._

* * *

  
  


Needless to say, the only thing that saved them from not getting a ban from the restaurant was Gordon curled up in agony on the floor. The owner had known Gordon from his time in his early interning days at Black Mesa before promotion, and then everything going to shit two years later. They had sort of been friends? Mostly from the fact that Gordon had been rail-thin from being a young father and stressed because of his new workflow and that his ex-wife lived in the same goddamn town as he did. 

Minnie, short for Minerva had all but done her best to shove her comfort food into his life. And Gordon was thankful for it, because- he and Olivia hadn’t been the healthiest when it came to food. You know, college students. She would even sneak some recipes in along with his receipts on some days, and they’d really saved his bacon.

Gordon liked her, she didn’t even ask questions about the folder. He’d quietly shredded that one after he got home from the hospital. He’d laughed hysterically for an hour because he could. There was no Joshua anymore, there wasn’t even any evidence that he’d even _lived_ in Gordon’s apartment. 

Olivia and his mother had swung by his home when Gordon was delirious on pain meds, not quite alone in the hospital with Tommy staring at their linked hands. Sunkist lying on the floor with her service dog jacket, whining mournfully. They had taken- _everything._ Undid the furniture, like Josh’s bed and dresser. Packed up all the toys, all the clothes. Unpeeled those glow-in-the-dark star constellations that Gordon painstakingly set up all those years ago. 

(They didn’t even tell him.)

_  
_  
  



	2. Lose Your Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joshua’s gone and has taken a bit of Gordon with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I smelled pain and came skittering"
> 
> \--
> 
> "I will one day get a job and pay someone to write a happy Gordon fic."
> 
> "Sorry, you'll have to wait for a bit."
> 
> \--

**Find Me in the Forest**

**Lose Your Head.**

* * *

The lack of Josh’s things in his apartment is one of the first things that kick-starts Gordon’s slow descent into madness. It’s the fact that every little trace of his son is gone from his apartment. Aside from the images in the picture frames and his desktop, it’s almost as if Josh never existed here in the first place. In Joshua’s absence, it’s left a gaping hole in Gordon’s being, somehow it’s even worse than losing his hand. 

Gordon may be used to being alone, but that doesn’t mean that he likes it. 

It doesn’t seem like Gordon’s a very tactile person, especially when you meet him at first. 

The thing is, Gordon’s genuinely a nice guy (he thinks so at least) once you get to know him, but he’s fully aware that he can be a complete and total asshole. He’s the type of person to honk at someone when they fail to use their turn signal or cut through the gore point when getting on the off-ramp of the highway. Not to mention his tendency to accidentally interrupt conversations or cut people off because he sometimes has a hard time reading the mood and his luck is just that shitty sometimes. Or sometimes he’d open a door, get impatient and close it on someone if they were too slow. 

His patience meter can only handle so much, and even though Gordon’s pretty logical and straightforward, there’s just this one small problem: his prevalent anger-issues and his bad habit of the ability to quickly flip his lid at a moment’s notice. But Gordon likes people, he likes learning about someone’s day. If they prefer their tea, coffee, hot cocoa, or milk in the mornings. What their favorite food was. What they found interesting and fun. He likes holding hands or simply sitting next to someone as they play videogames on the couch, loves the little gestures like handing off platters of food around the dinner table. 

Or making food in general. There’s something special about being able to cook for others, to carefully make and craft something for the people you care about to enjoy. Gordon loves cooking. Loved cooking. Getting used to doing work with his left hand is hard. Sometimes Gordon swears that he can still feel his right hand comb through his own mess of curly hair. But it’s only a phantom sensation and the reality punches him in the face, and he’s once again remembering that his right hand is gone and he’s  _ useless.  _

He’s too scared to use a knife on his bad days because he can still feel the bite of  _ it _ against his skin. How it scraped against the fragile bones of his wrist. Gordon bites his lower lip hard enough to bleed, tasting iron on his tongue. He feels the warmth of it dripping down his chin, getting stuck in the strands of his goatee that’s been growing out into a scruffy beard. 

He can’t even stir things in a pot or container without nearly spilling some of it. Making those pancakes for Josh had taken hours. He’d been up at five am, trying to measure out the pancake mix with a shaking hand. He hated how hard it was to level it out. How his hands jittered when he cut up the fruit. He had used a plastic knife to cut it because he couldn’t stand the glint of metal. The prosthetic that had been made for him had been functional enough so he could complete some tasks. 

But he’d broken it like a goddamn moron and the others were simply too busy to make him a new one at the moment. Not that Gordon blamed them. He’d be upset too if some dumbass was stupid enough to slip on a table just to escape a dog nipping at a manilla folder, then falling down not only snapping something reasonably high tech but _also_ themself.

But touch is important to Gordon, and without it, Gordon feels like a part of himself is starving. 

( _ wow, that’s pretty desperate there, feetman. _ His inner Benrey chimes in, like an asshole.  _ exhausted cringe man want some huggles? some snuggly wugglies? you’re like a bear starved of honey, you wanna get a pick-i-nic basket, bearman? _ )

Inner Benrey and Real Benrey can eat their helmets. Friendships are something that Gordon holds close to his heart, even if it seems like he doesn’t. Gordon loves. He loves and he cares, and maybe he cares too much. He’s willing to throw down for his friends, hell, after he got the gun arm, he was totally willing to run into danger at a moment’s notice. Even before Benrey had betrayed him, Gordon was willing to do things to help the bastard out, even if the chucklefuck didn’t see it as Gordon ‘helping’. 

Like,  _ shit- _

Gordon lost count of how many times the weird shit that Benrey would spout out at random intervals during that the whole nightmare at the facility that reduced him to peals of slightly hysterical, but genuinely amused laughter. Or how sometimes, the sweet voice that Benrey would let out sounded very pretty, like during the times where they sat down to rest for the night. 

_ (Gordon faintly recalls the time that he’d hummed in tune to Benrey’s little siren song. They had been surrounded in pretty shades of pink to yellow to blue. The little balls of strange light and vapor flickering gently in the darkness of the silo.  _

_ Remembering how that blue flush that tinted Benrey’s pale skin when their combined vocals actually harmonized. Gordon had laughed a little, part of it from exhaustion and the lull of calm. That he couldn’t help but find that small flash of yellow teeth endearing when Benrey genuinely smiled for the briefest moment.  _

_ In that instant, they, the two of them, had been happy.) _

_ (Sometimes he wonders if it’s his fault that he can’t keep anyone. Why does he have to get so angry sometimes? Why do the little things that some people do bother him so badly? Why, why, why- _

_ -And as always, Gordon gets no answers.) _

He’s been trying to get better, but it’s really hard. Black Mesa has actually assigned him a therapist, but Gordon really doesn’t want to talk about what happened. And besides, this is another method of Black Mesa exerting its control over him. The woman they’ve assigned him to oversee his mental health obviously doesn’t care, and Gordon recognizes the look in her eyes. The disinterest in her cold gaze. Gordon mostly keeps to himself now.

He’s terrified of her.

He’s still noticing the little things, the changes in the relationships around him. The loss of Joshua, giving him up still  _ burns  _ and it’s only been two weeks. He hadn’t believed it at first. When he’d stepped through the front door after the day spent in the hospital.  _ (They had to keep him over time, apparently, Gordon was also severely dehydrated and his blood sugar was low). _ How clean Josh’s former room was. There was no residue from the stick-em on the ceiling, nor were there any scratches on the wooden floor from the dragging of furniture. No toys accidentally left behind. Not even one bit of clothing like a sock. Hell, there wasn’t any dust.

He wonders how long it took for them to steal everything about his son from his life.

He’d only been in the hospital for a day. 

(Gordon can’t help but wonder if Benrey had helped, maybe even Tommy. Gordon pretends to not notice how the Science Team’s been whispering behind his back. Something bitter-tasting fills his mouth, and he almost chokes on it as a sour sounding note fills the air with it’s screeching crescendo. Warmth, hot and sticky spills down his chin when he goes to wipe at his mouth, his hands come away wet with glowing maple. 

_ “That’s m-maple, Mr. Freeman! It tastes like betrayal.” _ Tommy in his mind sing-songs).

They at least let Gordon do the video calls. Small mercies. 

It was the only thing keeping him sane. To have Joshua call him before he went off to bed, how Josh’s face would brighten up on the screen at the sight of Gordon’s face. How excited his son was to sign about what happened in school. Making those soft squeaking noises of delight when Gordon would ask about something he’d read or the quiz score he got. 

(He almost cried right then and there, when Joshua signed, expression sad, that he missed the ceiling stars. Olivia apparently hadn’t done them right, the wrong constellations, and that some of the stickers were too close together. How he missed being at the apartment with Gordon and wonders when he can come  _ home _ .)

Joshua is his boy after all. He wants to say, so badly, that- yes, of course, Josh- of  _ course, _ you can come home. Dad’s missing you so much right now that it  _ hurts _ . But he can’t, because Gordon’s not safe to be with right now.

Sometimes after the call with his son ends, Gordon finds himself curled up on the couch with the T.V. turned on low for the sake of ambiance. Gordon can’t sleep in the dark with silence, not anymore. For the longest time, he was glad for the quiet. Black Mesa was a loud facility, constantly humming and whirring away. His apartment had been a reprieve from all the sounds, but now it all felt suffocating. Being stuck in pitch dark and endless quiet is unbearable. He remembers how the doors to  _ that  _ room closed behind him. 

How there had been that moment of utter quiet before- before-

Gordon buries his face into the couch armrest, pulling the blanket tighter around him, and allows the white noise from the TV to wash over him. His mind, frantic and spiraling, seems to take ages to calm down. He doesn’t even realize that he’s fallen asleep.

  
  


* * *

_ The door shuts behind him, cutting out all sources of light. The HEV suit’s mechanical whirring is the only thing audible, and the hairs on the back of Gordon’s neck prickles in fear. His breathing picks up, muffled by the helmet. A rustle of fabric is his only warning, and like always he’s too  _ slow _ - _

_ Sound of skin striking against hard rubber echoes. _

_ -the next thing he knows, Gordon’s reeling from a vicious right hook that practically lays him flat. Gordon’s right ear is ringing, he can’t see but he can tell that his vision would be blurry from disorientation. Then there’s an uncomfortable weight on his chest, leaving Gordon wheezing for air. He can’t breathe, not with the helmet on. _

_ (No no no, please not again I’m so sorry for being an asshole, okay? I’m sorry for not listening and being such an obtuse, unreasonable, selfish person. Please, please  _ **stop** _ -) _

_ “ _ **_Hello, Gordon. It’s nice of you to_ ** **finally** **_join us.”_ ** _ Coomer’s voice sounds off, and he’s suddenly reminded of the whole clone incident. There’s that same empty, underlying tone to his speech that spells out dangerous. Gordon can’t see him, aside from blurry, glowing green in the corner of his eyes. “ _ **_Don’t struggle, my Black Mesa issued PowerFists Trademark- can easily break through a man’s femur with one well-placed punch!”_ **

**_“Yeah, we’ve already taken that arm of yours,”_ ** _ Bubby says, voice practically dripping with acid.  _ **_“Losing your legs would be much worse, don’t you think?”_ **

_ Gordon makes a choked off whimper, his vision finally clearing enough to recognize that he’s being sat- more like straddled, by the shortest member of their motley crew.  _

_ The only reason that he can even see is due to the eerie blue glow of Benrey’s eyes. The typical shadows around the others’ eyes are darker than any black. And that expression- Benrey’s expression is  _ cold.  _ Barely any emotion, no smugness, no annoyance.  _

**_“Sup, just wanted to let you know somethin’-”_ ** _ Benrey says, his voice low and empty in a way that sends Gordon’s heart plummeting to his stomach like a stone. _ **_“-this is all your fault bro, you shoulda’ been a little nicer instead of being a pissy lil’ baby man. That’s right, all of this-”_ **

_ Benrey makes a weird gesture with his hands. There’s a strange cracking noise from the not-human’s shoulder, and Gordon  _ swears _ that he sees Benrey’s teeth grow sharp, the flesh of his right cheek splitting open, revealing a horrific smile of needle-like fangs.  _ **_“All of this is your fault, cause- cause you wouldn’t listen because you’re a bad.”_ **

_ Gordon can’t even bring himself to speak, wheezing as tears gather in the corners of his wide, his eyes jittering back and forth. That empty, twisted smile on Benrey’s face only seems to grow. Gordon feels too hot and at the same time unbearably cold. Heart threatening to burst out of his chest as he trembles. His breathing comes out in short, quick little pants.  _

_ Clawed hands grab at his throat, drawing a choked off scream from Gordon. He instinctively tries to squirm away, but Benrey’s having none of that. Gordon gurgles, the hands around his throat gripping tighter.  _ **_“You just had to go and fuck everything up cause you had to be stubborn. You made me bad, you fucked up all your relationships.”_ **

**_“M-Mr. Freeman? Mr. Freeman!”_ ** _ Gordon makes a little whine, feebly trying to remove the vice grip around his neck at the sound of Tommy’s voice. Out of everyone he’s heard so far, Tommy’s the only one who sounds normal. Cold tears slide down Gordon’s cheeks. He doesn’t know how he’s staying conscious considering that Benrey’s trying to choke the life out of him.  _ **_“What are you guys doing? This is Gordon! Gordon’s- he’s- he’s important [to me]! You can’t- can’t do this to him!”_ **

_ (Tommy, Tommy, please, please help, I’m sorry. I’ll be good, please save me.) _

**_“It’ll be- all okay.”_ ** _ Warm hands gently comb through Gordon’s curly hair, soft and gentle as if to avoid any tangles. A part of Gordon’s brain fizzles because wasn’t he wearing-? For a moment, the youngest of the whole group finds himself faintly illuminated in gold. _

_ Tommy’s eyes staring straight into Benrey’s. Benrey who’s glaring at Tommy, the too-wide mouth curled into a dangerous sneer. Once again, Gordon’s brain does another little flip, as Tommy’s eyes narrow, something deadly lurking in the yellow, alien depths of his eyes. _

_ Whatever expression Tommy makes (Gordon suddenly can’t see it, his vision shadowing over), it’s enough to scare the shit out of him. _

_ With a low snarl, Benrey lets go, expression suddenly wary. Gordon pathetically gasps for air as the guard scrambles off of him and away from Tommy. Gordon gurgles a little on his own spit, before making these awful, choked little keening noises. Tommy hums softly above him, still continuing to card his thin fingers through Gordon’s sweaty and untamable curls.  _

**_“It’s okay, Mr. Freeman. I’ve, I’ve got you- like how a wolf- a wolf protects his pack.”_ ** _ Tommy says, voice achingly soft. Somehow he’s still humming, the sound reverberating in his chest. Gordon trembles as he’s gently pulled into an embrace, hiccuping and burying his face into Tommy’s neck.  _ **_“...I’ve got you.”_ **

_ (Thank you, Tommy, thank you- you saved me again- Tommy- I love-) _

* * *

The tenant above wakes up to the sound of Dr. Freeman _screaming._

Only, they’re not upset by it even if the horrific sound causes them to jolt awake. They’ve gotten used to it after the past few months. Their name is Arc Fall, also a Black Mesa employee, one of the lucky ones who wasn’t on-site with the whole Resonance Cascade nonsense. Arc knows Dr. Freeman. For one, they were a huge fan of his thesis paper on the  _ Observation of Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen Entanglement on Supraquantum Structures by Induction Through Nonlinear Transuranic Crystal _ . 

_ (Arc couldn’t stop reading that paper for weeks, even if they were in the Biomedical department. Everything about it was just  _ so _ fascinating-) _

The second is that Arc has babysat for Joshua—  _ Had been babysitting Joshua for ages, even during the three or some odd days when Gordon was stuck in the hell that was Black Mesa  _ —as they left ads around the complex with the owner’s permission. Sure, Black Mesa paid well, but they just didn’t need someone like Arc on-site too often. 

_ (Well, in a twist of fate. They were supposed to be on-site that week for some developments on the next generation of HEV suits, but Dr. Freeman needed them to babysit for Joshua, so they cited a few days off for personal reasons.) _

It gave them something to focus on and not have to worry about deadlines. Anyway, they knew Dr. Freeman alright, enough to call the older tenant a friend. 

And Gordon _really_ needs a friend, because Arc’s not dumb, and Black Mesa is  _ weird _ even on it’s best days. They also know better than to push at Dr. Freeman considering that the man’s gone through obvious trauma. Like, duh, the man’s lost his right hand. He can’t even drive at the moment because his truck’s a stick-shift, not an automatic. He needs someone to help him, even though he may push people away. There are little things that Arc can do to save him. Because it’s obvious that he’s spiraling, and if this continues - well, they don’t want to think about it. There has to be something they can do to save him from himself.

There has to be.

With burning brown eyes, illuminated green in the light of their digital clock, Arc makes a decision as they hear Dr. Freeman’s screaming turn to gasping sobs. It’s five in the morning. They don't have work. Good, this means that they could do _something-_

  
  



	3. Little Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a nightmare. A gift of baked goods and a serious conversation with a neighbor is the calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "angry crying is gay culture"
> 
> "it really is sometimes"
> 
> "it's nice to have a good cry over ppl you care about"

> **Find Me in the Forest**
> 
> **Little Talks**

* * *

-Gordon wakes up tasting iron on his tongue and mouth dry as cotton. His face is wet with tears and he has a headache. Another nightmare. He can barely remember it, aside from a too-wide mouth, blue eyes, and burning gold.

There’s a loud persistent knocking at his front door. Gordon breathes in, each sounding raspy and choked as he struggles to free himself from the blanket that’s wrapped like a boa constrictor around his chest and stomach. It feels almost impossible to get out of, and he almost sobs in relief when the raggedy thing finally falls to the carpeted floor. His fingers scrabble across the surface of the coffee-table as he grabs for his glasses and clumsily slips them on. Then he’s going for the remote to turn off the still-going TV.

He takes even longer to reach the door. Momentarily stopping by the sink to drink straight from the faucet like some sort of animal. It helps, feeling the cool liquid sliding down his esophagus and soothing the ache in his throat. It makes him feel more human. He idly rubs his face with a clean hand towel.

The clock on the microwave reads 8:01 am. He’s almost upset at how early it is, but another part of him is unerringly curious. Gordon hasn’t had anyone visit him in weeks, not since that disastrous dinner with Tommy. Maybe it’s the apartment’s owner finally deciding to tell Gordon to pack up his shit for being a public disturbance. 

He looks through the peephole, spotting movement before mentally going ‘fuck it’ and, all but tossing his sheets to the wind and opens the door. His brain stutters for a moment, especially when he realizes that no, it’s not the elderly owner of the apartment but-

“Good Morning, Dr. Freeman!” Arc’s got dark circles under their eyes, making the strange hazel-brown mix of their eyes stark. They stand a little oddly, their hands hidden behind their back. Despite this, their voice is cheery, if a bit soft and tentative. “I hope that, um, I didn’t wake you up.”

“Arc,” Gordon breathes out. The tension that had been prevalent through Gordon’s form all but drains out of him at the sight of a familiar  _ (friendly) _ face. “Good morning. You- you know that you don’t have to call me Dr. Freeman, Gordon’s fine.”   
  


“Sorry, it’s a habit.” Arc winces a little bit, their face scrunching up and relaxing only when Gordon laughs a little.

“It’s nice to see you,  _ god  _ how long has it been?” Gordon hopes they don’t feel as awkward as he is now.

“Uh, I think it’s been like, um, two months?” They rock a little on their heels as they look up at him, their arms still hidden behind their back. “Time’s been kind of, you know, blending together after the whole mess at the workplace.”

“Has… has it really been that long?” The reminder of the whole shebang is enough to cause Gordon’s hand to clench and his body to tremble. Two months… really? That’s all? It feels so much longer than that. From the way that Arc glances down, they had caught Gordon’s full-body flinch. They smile demurely, and Gordon’s quick to reign in his emotions. 

_ (Arc’s really young, younger than himself, he can’t- he can’t blow-up or have a breakdown in front of them.)  _

“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy. Um, I’ve been occupying my time with watercolors and- other art projects.” They blurt, looking a little embarrassed, but Gordon’s thankful for the abrupt topic change. 

“That’s- great.” Gordon probably couldn’t even watercolor. Not with how much his left-hand shakes and it’s non-dominance. Stars above, he’s pathetic. “It’s nice that you’ve found something to do.”

“Yeah, I guess so, I’m not too good at it, but that’s what practice is for! Is it okay if I come in-? I’ve got something for you.” They bring out, frankly, a large box out from behind themself. Gordon’s momentarily blind-sighted in surprise because it was  _ big _ . Made out of plastic and metal, the lid holding it all together with latches. They blush a little, feet shuffling. 

For a moment, Gordon’s brain whirls in his skull. But then he relaxes because the corkboard with all of his insane ramblings isn’t visible from the kitchen area. And- it’d be nice to sit and talk for a moment instead of taking the container and hiding away for another month like some sort of cave goblin. 

_ (wow, bro, holy shit that’s like- very miserable of you.  _ Inner Benrey snarks at him for being so needy and desperate for human contact _.) _

“Yeah-” Gordon awkwardly scratches at the back of his head, fingers briefly tangling in greasy curls. “-Sure, sorry about the mess.”

Arc dips their head, scooting past him and making a bee-line directly for his countertop. There are a few dishes and utensils in the sink, most of those that he couldn’t just put into the dishwasher. A few cabinets are left open, doors ajar displaying how little he’s been actually focused on organizing things. Even the drying rack is full of clumsily cleaned dishes that he’s been too lazy to put away. It causes a hot rush of shame to creep up his neck.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ve seen  _ much _ worse, you know how college is.” Arc smiles at him, as they place down the box onto the island counter with a clatter. 

Their hands ghost the edge and flip the latches. Gordon inhales sharply as they open the box, revealing a fuck ton of pastries. It even has internal layers, and when the top is lifted, the inside folds out into steps, each loaded up with pastry after pastry. The scent that wafts out is almost enough to make him drool.

There are freshly baked cookies of varying types. Chocolate chip, snickerdoodles, just plain old sugar cookies, some with frosting. There were even several types of muffins. Some with fruit, others with nuts and chocolate chips. Gordon looked at it all and felt utterly bewildered. His brows furrowed a little as he realized that this was all freshly baked. His hand reached out to gently touch the metal, feeling the warmth against his skin. Still warm from the oven.

“Holy- did you just make these?” Gordon asked, looking from Arc to the box and back a few times. He makes a slightly disbelieving laugh, reaching up to run his hand through his hair in an attempt to ground himself. “You must’ve been up for ages, is this- really all for me?”

Gordon considers the dark circles under their eyes, and he’s so confused as to why they’d make this for  _ him _ of all people. Sure, he’s used to them doing the occasional cooking during the days that they were babysitting Josh. His brain stutters a little. Then again Arc’s always been extremely nice, they even helped him install a new refrigerator at one point by vacuuming the wood dust out of the house when they had to modify-

“Yeah, they’re all for you. It’s the least I can do for you, I’ve considered you a friend ever since I moved here, Gordon.” Arc smiles, but there’s an edge to it that causes Gordon’s hackles to rise. They avert their eyes, idly rubbing at their arms in discomfort. “Um- but to tell you the truth, your screaming woke me up this morning-"

Ice drips down Gordon’s spine, and he doesn’t realize that he’s slipped into a panic, the world blurring and falling to visual static. 

It’s suddenly like he’s being choked, and his brain suddenly recalls the near-forgotten scenes from his nightmare spiking through his thoughts. There’s also crushing guilt, the knowledge that he and his stupid fears are bothering people and their days. Arc’s not even in their mid-20s, they shouldn’t even have to deal with waking up to  _ screams.  _

_ “G-rd-n- y-u g-tt- bre-th-” _

_ “It’s g-nn- be -k-y-, I’m with y-u.” _

He feels a hand gently rest above his own. The other’s hand is smaller than his own, and a little clammy, the tips of their fingers cold, but it’s enough to ground him back to reality. Their eyes, a mix of hazel and brown are vivid and stark in the light coming from the lights above. He then realizes that he can hear steady breathing, deep and slow. Like a drawing man, Gordon struggles to match it, wheezing. 

“Gordon, it’s okay. No one’s mad at you. ” Arc’s voice is so soft, gentle. 

_ (Their eyes are wide, a little watery at the edges but not upset. They’re not angry at him for stars-knows-how-many days that he’s kept them awake. They’ve got circles under their eyes from him, why aren’t they mad? They should be after how badly Gordon’s gone and fucked up  _ everything _.)  _

“Well. No one aside from Lila Mac in 215, but she’s a dirty hypocrite  _ and _ a bitch with her  _ blasting _ music at 3 am. She doesn’t count.” The sheer change in the tone of Arc’s voice, soft at one moment and the next, dripping with discontent is enough to startle a wet sounding laugh from Gordon. 

Arc smiles a little, their own laugh briefly mingling with his own, bright and warm as they shake their head. “But yeah, no one’s mad at you. I think Mrs. Noriko next door nearly cried when you got back. Everyone was so _ worried- _ ”

“Really, why?” Gordon croaks out, swallowing audibly, throat feeling rough like sandpaper. Why were they worried? Why did they care? Why did _anyone?_

* * *

_ (A small thing, Gordon was actually really good at fixing things. Mrs. Noriko was one of the older tenants, and sometimes she’d stop by and ask Gordon for some sort of computer help. Or Max at 206 down below, whose microwave had a nasty habit of randomly stopping for no apparent reason.  _

_ Not to mention that whenever Joshua was staying, the boy was like a little ray of sunlight, and many of the tenants were utterly taken by his cute little wiles. Upon learning that Joshua’s preferred method of communication was sign-language, many of the tenants had scrounged what they could to try and learn. _

_ When Mrs. Noriko couldn’t leave during the evac orders over what was happening at Black Mesa, those who didn’t have a family to go back to stayed in her defense. Much like how Arc stayed back with the radio muted because they had to keep watch over Joshua, distracting the boy for days, especially when they realized in horror that Gordon still wasn’t back when he was supposed to after the first day.  _

_ The denizens of this little complex took care of their own.)  _

* * *

  
  


“Why?” Arc’s eyes widen in sheer disbelief. Those bright eyes of theirs scan his face, jittering a little back and forth as if searching, pupils suddenly constricting into tiny black dots as if they suddenly realized something. They exhale sharply, the sound sudden and almost explosive, almost causing Gordon to flinch. “Shit.  _ Gordon… _ .”

There’s a moment of heavy silence as the younger of the two gets their thoughts in order. Drumming the fingers of their free hand loudly against the false marble countertop in a quick three-beat rhythm. Arc straightens up after a moment, gently placing their other hand over his own. Their hands are warmer now, and it makes Gordon, touch-starved Gordon, feel comforted. He still has the sudden urge to run, but it’s abated by the human contact that he craves so much.

“You came back after four days, missing a  _ hand _ .” Arc takes a little calming breath, especially when Gordon flinches a little, catching how his eyes glance at the amputated limb in question, as well as the orange cast that had been put on after he fell on it. “Do you have any idea how relieving it was to see you again? So many of us thought you  _ died _ . ”

“Well, I’m not-  _ dead- _ ” Gordon begins. “-I’m still alive. I’m _ fine.” _

“Yes, and we were all so relieved to find out that you were still here with us.” The little laugh that Arc makes sounds a little hoarse. Gordon practically feels the fight drain out of him again. 

He feels like a dish-towel. Wrung out over and over again. He’s exhausted.

“But- I- I know that I don’t really have much of a right to say this but-” Arc shifts a little, expression vulnerable. Their fingers tap against the countertop. “-It’s clear that- um- You’re not fine. You haven’t been fine.”

Something in Gordon’s throat seems to close up, the words registering and ringing around in his skull. He momentarily stares numbly at their clasped hands, his vision suddenly swimming and he feels tears start to roll down his cheeks.

“I don’t know what happened in Black Mesa, and Black Mesa doesn’t- want  _ anyone _ to know. I- I mean, I wasn’t even on-site at the time-” Arc chuckles weakly, scratching at the back of their neck. “A-and- a-and they’re  _ still _ sending me hush-money in the mail. It speaks- volumes.”

“Whatever happened back there, it hurt you, it hurt you  _ really _ bad. It fucking uh- it chewed you up and spat you back out. You survived.” They meet his eyes, expression sad. “But even though you’re still alive, you’re not fine.”

Gordon makes a choked up, broken little noise in the back of his throat. The sound is of an injured thing, sounding more like the cry of a wounded animal than a person. He doesn’t even realize that he’s torn his hand out of their lax grip until he feels his wrist scruff against his nose, messing up his glasses. He blinks in a futile attempt to clear out the tears, but they just won’t _ stop. _

“And that’s okay-”

“Okay? H-how could anything possibly be okay? I’m- me- my  _ hand _ \- it’s fucking  _ gone _ . And-” Gordon finally gasps out, almost choking over the words. His voice wounded, gutted, and ragged. His green eyes are wild, even as he tries his best to calm down. He can taste salt on his tongue, and his nose has started running. ”-I’m fine, I’m perfectly  _ fine _ . I’m just being  _ stupid-  _ and- and over-reacting like I always am.”

Arc waits for a moment, and Gordon appreciates it. It gives him some time to try and stop crying, even though it still seems endless. He makes a weak coughing noise, and Arc briefly walks to one of the cabinets that contain the spare paper towels. When they return, Gordon snatches the cloth from their hands, using it to try and wipe the tears from his face, blowing his nose and sounding like a dying elephant.

Silence reigns over the kitchen. Occasionally broken by the tapping of fingers and the stuttered breathing and the occasional sniffle.

“If it helps, I don’t think that you’re stupid- or that you’re over-reacting. But-” Arc’s expression twists into something dark and angry. Thunderous even. Their next words were almost a  _ growl.  _ “-Whoever told you that, should be fucking  _ ashamed _ of themselves.” 

It almost makes Gordon feel on edge. But on the other hand- it’s been a long time since anyone’s been mad for his sake.

“What _ right  _ do they get to say that? They weren’t even there to experience it! They weren’t the ones who came back in the dead of night bloodied up and bruised. They don’t get to say  _ jackshit _ of your trauma.” Arc snaps, voice shaking with emotion, and their eyes look distinctly wet now and they’re blinking furiously. “They don’t get to say those things, that’s not f-f-fa- _ fair _ .”

“I-i-if I  _ ever  _ see the p-person who told you that your struggles and sufferings are just you being ‘stupid and over-reacting’. I’ll kick their  _ ffffffucking _ teeth in.” 

Gordon falters a little, noticing how their breath hitches on their words, how they stutter and slur. And being the tactile, damaged guy that he is, goes to gently place his hand over their own, momentarily stilling their fingers. Arc glances up, eyes greener than Gordon’s ever seen them, and sends him a smile that’s both angry yet terribly  _ sad. _

“You’ve been through one fucking ordeal, and honestly I-  _ hhhck _ -think it’s  _ incredible _ that you’re still here.” Arc stands a little straighter, taking in deep, calming breaths. In through their nose and out through their mouth as they go to wipe at their eyes. 

Still, tears spill down their cheeks and they sniffle a little. “That you’re still  _ alive _ , like, you couldn’t _believe_ all the weird stuff that-  _ hhh _ -I’ve been looking into th-the last, c-co-couple of weeks.”

“Wh-what?” Gordon falters at that, and when he looks at them, he notices how Arc looks distinctly uncomfortable. 

“What weird stuff?” Was there anything about what happened? Did Black Mesa find out about all of the shit the Science Team and Gordon had done? Did Arc _know?_

“Sorry-” Arc croaks out, They scrub at their eyes again with the heel of their hand, still working on their breathing. “-Didn’t mean to cry at you.”

“W-well, it’s only fair, right? Now we’re even.” Gordon says awkwardly, drawing a coughing laugh from the other. It’s the least he can do. He even clumsily takes off a sheet from the roll of towels, offering it over. Arc takes it from his fingers with a slightly nasal ‘thanks’ and turns away from him a moment. They sound like a particularly strangled clarinet.

“Ugh. Well, I don’t know the true statistics but mhhh-” Arc chews on their lower lip nervously. It seems that the concept of a new topic has semi-calmed them down. Their eyes red-rimmed, and their breath hitches occasionally. “-From what I have gotten by poking around, almost everyone at the facility is dead. I’m one of the lucky few in that uh, 0.05% that survived just because I live here in Laidlaw and-”

They look at the wall for a moment, looking horribly lost. “I don’t think you’ve realized it, but you saved my life. Cause I took that day off to take care of Josh for you. If it hadn’t been for that-”

The shock of that statement suddenly settles into Gordon’s brain and his mind conjured up the horrific image of Arc being one of those crumpled bodies in the corridors. Or one of the unfortunate people that got successfully headcrabbed. Or even worse, one of those scientists that the Science Team (plus Benrey) had executed before Gordon could stop them. He feels sick to his stomach for the briefest of moments. He doesn’t like the thought of Arc dead.

“-Well, I don’t like thinking about it.” Arc laughs a little, sounding hollow. They briefly rub at the bridge of their nose. “Anyway, the point I’m trying to get at. You survived nigh-impossible odds in a really fucked up situation. Like, it’s so fucked up that I’m surprised that you and your buddies aren’t  _ catatonic _ , much less _ alive _ .”

The thought of anyone going catatonic in the Science Team is almost enough to make Gordon want to laugh. But he doesn’t because- well, none of them are fucking human. Bubby is some weird-ass test-tube experiment.  _ (He tries not to think of all the prototypes, how they screamed and howled in agony as Gordon gunned them down one by one, two by two-). _ He doesn’t know what the  _ fuck _ Benrey is, and at this point, he’s too terrified of the guy to ask. Tommy’s like his father in some manner, and Gordon’s  _ also _ too scared to ask. Fuck, even Dr. Coomer’s been augmented so much by Black Mesa that he wonders how much of his humanity the old man even has left.

“But here’s the thing about trauma, it takes a long time to heal from. I still wake up from anxiety attacks after going to college at  _ fourteen _ , and- I’m almost  _ twenty _ now- It’s okay for you to feel upset. Or angry. Or grieving. Any of those emotions under the umbrella. Everything that  _ could’ve _ gone wrong at Black Mesa  _ went _ wrong.” 

“Recovery’s gonna be a bitch. And- I’m not going to lie about it. It’s not going to be easy, it  _ can’t _ be easy.” Arc taps their hands on the countertop, expression pained. “And- you and I both know that Black Mesa’s not gonna give a shit about survivors and outliers like us. They haven’t cared before, and they’re not going to now."

They’re right. Gordon knows this from how off-putting his assigned psychiatrist is. How he feels like an insect under her uncaring radar. It makes something hot and ugly bubble up in his chest, and for a moment Gordon resists the urge to choke as something bitter fills his throat.

“Fuck Black Mesa.” Gordon spits out, grimacing as bright green spills down his chin. The note that fills the air is a low one, deep and gritty. 

Surprisingly enough, Arc doesn’t even bat an eye as the glowing liquid splatters against the countertop, merely letting out a hoarse bark of laughter. They make a soft humming sound, and Gordon blinks as the same green wisps from the corners of their mouth like dragon smoke, faintly bubbling and filling the air with a low, vibrating tenor. The same note, the same voice-

_ (“Sage, I’m filled with rage!”) _

“Fuck Black Mesa!” Arc echoes, grinning ferally as they tear off a towel and offer it out to him. 

The corners of Gordon’s mouth twitch for a moment before he smiles tentatively. It’s a soft, almost gentle expression that hasn’t been on his face in ages. It almost feels weird to smile again. He takes the sheet from them and wipes at the table, then at his chin, making sure to mop up all the sage green. When he speaks, his voice is slightly hoarse and wet with emotion. “Thank you, Arc. For being here-”

“No thanks necessary, Gordon.” Arc grins at him, expression sun bright. They grab the container of pastries and settle it between themself and him, their fingers tapping at the box’s edge. “Now, why don’tcha snack a bit while I get some coffee ready, everything still in the same place?”

The prospect of a hot drink makes something in Gordon flicker back online. Green eyes eagerly looking over the assembled goodies with an almost ravenous edge. His long since forgotten stomach aches with hunger, and it suddenly feels like void’s opened up inside. He hasn’t eaten in a while.

“Yeah, it should be all there,” Gordon says and finally relaxes. He braces his cast on the table, blinking a little when he catches movement in the corner of his vision. A paper plate is slid next to him. 

Arc winks at him as they pull out the coffee machine, it’s an old, battered thing. But it had saved Gordon’s life back in college. He couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it, even after he graduated from MIT all those years ago. In minutes, Arc has it chugging away, the water slowly starting to boil.

“I’ll be right back, I’m gonna bring you something that’s gonna rock your fucking socks off-” Arc says as they rattle the final can of Gordon’s powdered coffee. 

They open up the sliding trash cabinet with their foot, and, without looking, tosses the entire thing into the garbage. Before Gordon can even say anything, they’re out the door and he  _ swears _ that he sees them use one of the wooden beams to climb up to the floor above. In the meantime,  Gordon selects a few muffins, cinnamon crumble and a lemon poppyseed, placing them onto the plate as he hears distance shuffling, and the patter of feet from the room above followed by a door slam. 

“I got it!” Arc announces as they all but trot back into Gordon’s apartment moments later, breathing a little heavily with a can of something cradled under an arm. “My mom sent me this, I’m not a big fan of coffee, so I think you’ll get more use of it out of it than I ever will.”

“It’s a dark roast mix with chocolate and honey, at least, that’s what it says on the label.” Setting it onto the counter, Arc pries open the lid and dumps a few measuring cups full of whatever coffee blend into the top. Closing it all up and filling the air with the scent of heaven once the water starts working its magic. “It’s too strong for me, but considering that you went to MIT, this is probably nothing to what you shoved down your face back during finals hell, like, you probably made a death wish coffee-”

Gordon’s face scrunches up at the reminder, and Arc only nods in a self-satisfied manner. Gordon idly works at grabbing a few more pastries, snagging several cookies. A snickerdoodle, a chocolate chip, two sugar cookies, and one with chocolate chunk and chopped up pecans. He holds one of the frosted cookies, noting with some disbelief that they’d iced it to look like his glasses. 

“How do you like your coffee?” They ask. 

“Uhh, three creams and four sugars-” Gordon cringes for a moment internally. He’s always gotten some side eyes for his choices. Too girly. Ruining the brew. 

“Aight, gotcha.” There’s an odd  _ ‘pssssFWTCH’ _ noise, almost causing him to jolt in surprise. Arc grins a little sheepishly as they slide him a mug of coffee, revealing that the odd sound had been a can of whipped cream. 

The coffee smells really good, the color of the liquid that Gordon can see is a surprisingly rich, honeyed caramel. Though he does quirk an eyebrow at the bendy straw sticking out of it. He idly flicks it with his index finger, watching how the whipped cream swirls around and bobs with the disturbance. “What’s the straw for?”

“So you can double task, you can sip as you munch,” Arc says with a little bounce and a wink. Gordon can’t help the little snort of amusement, hand twitching in surprise when Arc briefly assists him in peeling off the paper of the muffins.

“You don’t have to do that for me,” Gordon laughs, a little bewildered. ”I can just peel it off my teeth.”

“You could, but that’s bad for your teeth though,” Arc says after a moment, and they hum a little. “Think of this as your first lesson. It’s okay to ask for help, it doesn’t make you weak, Gordon. It’s- very strong of a person when they’re willing to ask for assistance. You’ve got my number.”

“I-” Gordon sighs softly, grabbing the straw and stirring in the whipped cream, even if his hand shook a little from the strain. He taps the warm mug with his index and middle before taking it in hand, feeling the comforting heat against his palm. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I’ll ask,” Arc smiles at him, clapping their hands together. “Now, come on! Dig in! You’ve got a lot of goodies to go through!”

Steam faintly whorls into the air, and Gordon takes a careful sip. Taste explodes on his tongue, the chocolate comforting and sweet, the honey smooth- Warmth floods his body, radiating outwards from his chest to his fingers. 

It’s perfect.


End file.
